#everyone’s favorite sniper

[leenathegreengirl]

Those pretty curls (just like his twin!)….and is that a little smile I see? I think our boy is healing 😭💚💕

@legacygirlingreen @thora-sniper @sukithebean @thecoffeelorian @neyswxrld @somewhere-on-kamino @clonethirstingisreal @royallykt @morerandombullshit @burningfieldof-clover @tbnrpotato @keantha @anxiouspineapple99

[sillyfriendssharingablog]

Happy international women's day mgs women! ^^

I'm sorry kojima wrote most of you so badly, but you gals are still in my heart <3

[leenathegreengirl]

Happy Sniper Sunday 😏😉💚💕

(Let’s give this whole tag list thing a try! If I missed you and you requested, I’m sorry! Still getting the hang of this 😅)

@legacygirlingreen @thora-sniper @sukithebean @thecoffeelorian @neyswxrld @somewhere-on-kamino @clonethirstingisreal @royallykt @morerandombullshit @burningfieldof-clover @tbnrpotato

[kinos-fortress-2]

holi :]

i made some piss mauling for u

…

NO

PUEDE

SERRRRR

PARA MI?

OH FUCK PH FUCK OH FUCK NO SABES NO LO ENTIENDES Q TANTA FELICIDAD ME DIO AL VER ESTO TU NO ENTIENDES NO ENTIENDES CUANTO AMO Y ADORO ESTO LITERAL FUCKING GRITE COMO SI ME HUBIERAN DADO ALGO Q AMO DEMASIADO PORQUE AAAAA????

literal toda mi fucking reacción NO PUEDO ES Q AGHHHHH ES TAN FUCKING LINDO BONITO PRECIOSO ADORABLE HERMOSO LOS DOS EN TU ESTILO TAN CUCHIS TAN CHIQUITO TAN PACHONCITOS TAN MONITOS TAN POLOLOS TAN DE TODO NOT EVEN WORDS IN ENGLISH CAN DESCRIBE THE HAPPINESS WHEN I SEE THEM TOGETHER

[leenathegreengirl]

🤒 🤧 🥣💚💕

Soup

Crosshair x Fem!Reader

Tags/warnings: Fluff. SFW, albeit with some mild suggestiveness here and there. Established relationship, some teasing. Mentions and descriptions of the common cold. So much Soft!Crosshair.

Word count: 1.4k

One shot masterlist | Main masterlist | Read on Ao3

You’d heard him shifting, tossing blankets, twisting, and turning throughout the night, and you giggled to yourself at the fact that he’d obviously tried not to wake you—and failed at it. You’d pretended to remain asleep so as to not worry him. You knew Crosshair was susceptible to feeling guilty over affecting you negatively in any way. Still, you knew something was up with him, and as you made pancakes for breakfast, you had already convinced yourself to act surprised when you saw an overly tired Crosshair emerging from your bedroom.

Nothing had prepared you, however, for the sight of Crosshair completely enveloped in a thick blanket with only his face peeking through the cloth, and you didn’t have to fake the shock that overwhelmed your sudden laughter. You looked away for a moment, diverting your gaze over to the pancakes as your laughter died down softly, but when you gazed at Crosshair again, you couldn’t help but erupt in laughter once more, now not only at the sight of him, but also at the fact that he was clearly annoyed.

“I don’t even know where to begin!” You kept giggling.

“How about, good freaking morning?” Crosshair crooned, his voice nasal and the sound of his m’s coming comically close to that of a B.

“Oh ho, sweetie,” you turned the stove off and you made your way over to him as he took a seat on the couch.

“Laugh it up,” Crosshair snarled, but his nasal voice and runny nose wouldn’t intimidate a mouse.

“Do you want padcakes?” You purposefully made your own voice nasal. “A good bordig is subbosed to have a good breakfast.”

His narrow eyes glared at you. “Ha ha.”

“Or would you prefer some chicke-d soup?” You grinned, still imitating his cold-infused way of talking.

In response, Crosshair laid across the entire sofa and faced the back of it, refusing to look at you. You chuckled at his grumpy-cat attitude and kneeled down beside the couch at the level of his head as he remained wrapped under the massive comforter.

“Okay, I’m done teasing,” you spoke normally, gently shaking his shoulder. “Will you look at me, please?”

“You’re really gonna make me move?” Crosshair crooned, immobile.

“I want to see your pretty face,” you smirked.

You heard Crosshair let out a big sigh, and he struggled under the comforter to shift his body, now facing you as he continued to lay on the couch. “I have half a mind to sneeze on you and bring you down with me.”

“I eat my fruits and veggies, you don’t scare me,” you raised a brow at him.

“Shut up and give me pancakes,” Crosshair moaned softly before he closed his eyes as though he’d fall asleep any minute.

“Don’t bite the hand that’s gonna nurse you back to health, sweetheart,” you leaned in and kissed him on the forehead.

Crosshair’s eyes opened for a moment at the contact of your lips on his skin, and the teasing went away from his eyes as he gazed up at you. Your lips retreated from his forehead, and you gazed upon him too—Crosshair didn’t fail to notice the glint of adoration in your eyes, sparkling as you looked down at him. Then, when you took your hand up to brush the backs of your fingers against his cheek, he inevitably leaned into your skin and his eyes closed again. You smiled softly at his reaction, and you took your hand up to his forehead before retrieving it and watching as his eyes opened expectantly, resenting the absence of your touch.

You chuckled. “Well, you don’t seem to have a fever.”

“Yipee,” Crosshair said monotonously.

“Oh, come on,” you said as you got up. “You have a tiny little cold, you’re gonna stay home all day on the couch in a cozy blanket watching movies, with your gorgeous girlfriend giving you pancakes and chicken soup all day.”

Crosshair chuckled. “You’re right, I can think of worse things.”

“And if you’re a good boy, I’ll rub some vaporub on your chest,” you winked.

Crosshair eyed you with a little gleam of mischief, smirking as seductively as he could manage in his current state. “Aye, here I am running with snot all over me, but you still want me, darlin’.”

You cackled. “Oh yeah, you’re irresistible, all wrapped up in a comforter.”

“You can put vaporub on me anywhere you want,” he kept smirking as he closed his eyes.

Laughter took over you again. “Gross.”

“You started it,” he hummed.

With a little giggle, you got up and made your way to the kitchen to finish what you’d started, putting in extra care to the pancakes and even sprinkled in a few chocolate chips, which Crosshair wouldn’t acknowledge out loud, but you knew he loved them. It was a perfectly slow day after that, with both of you spending almost the whole time in the living room together and cozying up to warm bowls of soup you improvised and nailed.

Each time you approached Crosshair for anything, you could see it in his eyes—the faint gleam and the fleeting softness that flashed through those brown irises, features glowing with a tender affection he didn’t need to put into words. He teased and he acted like an infuriated feline whenever he was sick, but close to nothing could measure the degree to which he appreciated and simply loved you. And each time you would feel him gazing upon you in such a way, you’d smile back at him, letting him know you felt the same way.

Crosshair insisted he’d spend the night on the couch—he didn’t want to increase your risks of catching his cold by sleeping next to you like he normally would, even if the idea of clinging to you in his sleep while you played with his gray locks seemed particularly appealing. You both went into the room to get his pillow and some blankets, and he spent a relatively peaceful night on the sofa while you lay dreamlessly on the bed, missing his warmth.

You’d spent the night shifting, tossing blankets, twisting, and turning, but at least you had no risk of waking Crosshair all the way to the sofa. That thought would comfort you during your sleepless hours, and after you finally managed to sleep and wake the next morning, your head ached, you felt your nose congested, and you wanted nothing more than to remain there the entire day. You sat up on the bed, groaning as you channeled all your inner exhaustion and irony—had you known you were going to get sick anyway, you never would have let Crosshair sleep on the sofa.

You got up and didn’t bother changing out of your pajamas. You walked into the living room to find Crosshair was already awake and sitting up on the couch sipping a cup of coffee with a movie in the background, its volume low. He still had a blanket around him, but he didn’t look as groggy as he had the day before. More than that, his handsome features instantly adopted a grin and a heartfelt laugh when he laid eyes on you standing at the edge of the living room in your pajamas, your hair messy as it could ever be, sneezing, and groaning in frustration.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Crosshair shamelessly teased you.

“You did this to me,” you frowned, and your features scrunched even more when Crosshair laughed at the way you were now pronouncing your m’s.

“Funny how the tables turn, darlin’,” Crosshair smirked.

“And I suppose you’re feeling better?” You raised a brow at him.

“Better than yesterday, but…” Crosshair looked around at the living room before looking back at you. “I could use another day of rest.”

You smiled at him. “Lucky.”

Crosshair gave a light chuckle and opened one of his arms, inviting you to sit next to him under the warmth of his blanket. You slouched your way over to him and took a seat, snuggling into his lean figure, and Crosshair wrapped his arm and the rest of the blanket around you, gently kissing the side of your head.

“You want some soup?” He asked you.

You nodded, snuggling deeper into Crosshair’s warmth.

“I’ll call Wrecker,” Crosshair said before planting another gentle kiss on your temple and reaching for his holopad, and as long as you were curled up to him, the day ahead of you could take whatever turns it wanted.

[honkshoo-zzz]

practicing my sniper art w/ my new steam icon, lmao

[leenathegreengirl]

#everyones favorite sniper

he angy

~

Quote sources ⬇️

Hunter quote

Echo quote

Omega quote

Wrecker quote

Crosshair: I can’t find the original post, but here’s a screenshot I took like 8 months ago when I first found it 💀 (OP is nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius):

Tech: Also can’t find the original post (that’s what I get for using months-old screen shots to make these, I guess 😭). OP is nerfpuncher (name is cropped in the screenshot because it had their old username):

[thedragonagelesbian]

god i love this party so much

[fru1tt0ast]

guys i think i successfully have achieved being insane about media again... it's so nice to not worry about some random guy thinking you're cringe... i was scared to draw things beacsue i was worried he would hate me forever. but now i don't have to worry anymore because he DOES hate me forever but it's fine because idgaf and i'm so much happier and i'm at peace with myself and i don't literally want to die every time i get a notification on my phone anymore. i love being happy. i know who my real friends are and i don't have to ever worry about people like him ever again.

[leenathegreengirl]

💚💚💚

Small art dump bc I’m not ok 👍🏼👍🏼❤️❤️

[eiilese]

what if the strawhats had different roles on the ship⁉️ i swapped everyone’s roles except for luffy because i can’t imagine him being anything but the captain

these are loose redesigns since their canon designs don’t really read as their roles all that much to begin with. some extra doodles and ideas for this in the cut !!

nami, vice captain: i took a lot of inspiration from her beta design!! canon nami already bosses everyone around so she fits right into the role. she wields an extendable staff (usopp still makes it for her); she lost her arm over the time-skip like how zoro lost his eye. i LOVE drawing cargo pants and boots, so she ended up with a sorta bottom-heavy design. frankly it’s probably not her style but i like how she looks

zoro, the cook: my foolproof logic is zoro uses swords = good with knives. he does not use katanas to cut produce however, just normal knives. i was trying to go for “sweaty ramen guy” with the towel around his neck. the majority of the shit he cooks would probably be drowned in alcohol. he also wears his bandana the majority of the time now!! it completes the ramen guy look

sanji, the sniper: i also took inspiration from his beta design for this!!! he has guns!! and perfect aim of course. i was going for more of a mafioso look so germa 66 would be like, a mafia organization on top of all the other villain shit they already do. he has two guns but i didn’t draw a holster bc that’s annoying🤞 he lights his cigarettes with his guns. how would that even work? don’t ask me

usopp, the navigator: his artistic talent lends itself to creating perfect maps! he also still tinkers, making nami’s staff as well as having a specialty for compasses. he uses a slingshot still (no perfect aim we gotta nerf him) and shoots weather-related projectiles. his goggles serve as binoculars, they can zoom to several different distances. i drew him in his zou outfit purely bc it’s my favorite one

chopper, the helmsman: he would predominately use heavy point while maneuvering the wheel. i changed his hat up to look more like a sailor’s cap, with an anchor symbol instead of an X. to be honest i don’t have much else bc helmsman doesn’t bring much to my mind :(

franky, the musician: ROCK N ROLL BABY YEEAHHH come on his stage presence is unmatched. he’s still a cyborg, he has instruments all over his body like apoo does but they were installed manually. his personality changes depending on what genre he’s playing but rock n roll is his default B) (ex. classical calls for a refined gentleman)

robin, the shipwright: her devil fruit gives her as many helpful hands as she needs! she developed nami’s arm (definitely installed some random shit she did Not ask for). she has a robot mecha that she’s able to pilot all by herself using clones. i changed her orange sunglasses to goggle eyewear

brook, the doctor: the irony of being nursed back to health by a literal skeleton 💀the irony of being the doctor of the rumbar pirates yet being the only survivor, saving no one from the poison 💀 i went for a plague doctor look! IM VERY HAPPY WITH HOW HE TURNED OUT i was really tempted to give him the plague mask too, but i feel that would’ve changed his appearance too much compared to the others

jinbei, the archaeologist: the shape of this man demands a little pair of round glasses on his face. he’s an intellectual i tell you!!! plus still a fishman karate master. the history of joyboy and fishman island being so intertwined is how he developed an interest in history

[rememberwren]

Threshold

Simon asks you to take his virginity, just not in so many words. Or any words at all, really. 5.7 k

cw: virgin!Simon, PIV, oral sex f and m receiving, stop and start sex, lack of communication (typical Simon), poor writing, soft!Simon, hints at past trauma, contraception.

-

A Ghost shaped shadow falls over the table. Your eyes lift to find him standing there, the neck of his beer bottle held loosely in his hand. His mask is drawn down below his chin, revealing to you one of your favorite parts of him: his mouth. Simon has a pretty mouth, scarred though it is. Maybe you have such an affinity for it because it is so often hidden away from your sight, or maybe it’s what that mouth is capable of, being just as likely to crack a poor dad joke as it is to cut a grown man to the bone with just a few words. 

He takes the seat across from you, the screeching of the chair on the floor lost to the ambient sounds of the pub. The others are playing pool (Gaz is taking all of them to task), and the place is packed with bodies, a cacophony of voices and laughter. Feeling overstimulated, you had sequestered yourself away to this little corner hoping to catch your breath and tether yourself back to the earth instead of spending the rest of the night in a dissociated haze. 

The sight of Ghost is like a light slap to the cheek, rousing you from your stupor. Lights burn brighter. Sounds are sharper. If you wrack your brain you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve ever been singled out by Ghost, so you know whatever is about to happen is out of the ordinary. Leaning in, you lace your fingers together on the table top and nearly have to shout to be heard as you say: “What can I do for you, Ghost?” 

“We should hook up,” he says. Then he takes a long drink from his bottle, eyes sharp and dark where they are narrowed in on you over the top. A sniper’s eyes. 

“What?” you shout back, positive that you have misheard him. 

He shrugs. He won’t repeat himself. 

“Me—and you?”

He raises his brows, looking around the empty table as if to ask, Who else?

“Why?”

He takes another drink, and you see him mulling over his potential answers this time, sucking on his teeth as he thinks. What you wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall in his head. He’s got you on tenterhooks, leaning forward onto your elbows, fingers absently (anxiously) playing with a condensation ring left by someone else’s drink earlier in the night. 

Finally, he says, “Why not?”

-

His hand rests low on your back as the two of you say goodbye to the others. You see the downright thunderstruck looks Gaz and Soap throw at each other at your announcement that Ghost is driving you home, but the deeper meaning hardly registers. Who cares if everyone knows that you’re taking Ghost home to fuck him? You’re both adults; you need no one’s permission. Still, as soon as you are outside, you press your palms to your heated cheeks, wondering how you will be able to face any of them in the future. 

“You driving?” you ask him. 

He lifts his hand, showing you the keys in his palm. He doesn’t open the car door for you—not that you had really expected him to. It isn’t as if this is a date. It’s just two adults hooking up.

Inside, he shifts the vents towards you and turns on the heat, soothing the goosebumps that had begun to bloom on your arms. He waits until you’ve buckled your seatbelt before backing out and onto the street. It’s only then that you remember what Soap says about Ghost’s driving. You wish you had a second seatbelt. 

“So what brought all this on?” you ask, feeling remarkably shy in the passenger seat. You’re beginning to sober up from your drinks at the pub, not that you had ever been that drunk to begin with. Maybe this was a mistake. You’re already suffering from nerves, and you haven’t even gotten back to your apartment yet. How were you supposed to fuck Ghost without looking like a fawn, your knees knocking together coltishly, nauseous from anxiety? 

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he admits. 

Alright. Downright digestible news. Before tonight, you wouldn’t have even considered you and Ghost friends, necessarily. More like friend-adjacent, thanks to your mutual friendship with Johnny. It’s good to know that apparently you had caught his eye somehow, even if it was by being the only woman among a male-dominated group of friends. 

You can’t leave it alone. “But why?” 

“That’s what people do, isn’t it?” he asks, like he’s not a person, like he’s only ever heard about what it’s like to be one from a friend of a friend. “They think about fucking each other. Don’t you think about fucking me?” 

Your mouth goes dry. You do. You think about fucking Ghost a lot than one might expect for how few minimal interactions you’ve had. Being perfectly honest, tonight is sort of becoming a dream come true. You’d had an attraction for Ghost ever since you’d met him, even before he’d taken the mask off and you’d seen that he has such a pretty face underneath. 

You’d be willing to examine under a microscope your affection for aloof, seemingly unaffected men on a different day.

Ghost looks at you, trying to interpret your silence, the car swerving slowly into the other lane. You make a sound remarkably close to a screech and reach out to adjust the wheel, but he adjusts it before you do, batting your hand away softly. 

“We don’t have to do this,” he says, eyes firmly on the road now. “I’ll just drop you off.” 

“No, I want to,” you say. “It’s just—it’s been a while for me. I want to, though.” 

Ghost casts you a doubtful glance. He pulls into your apartment complex’s parking lot and the two of you head up together. True to form, you feel his eyes taking in all the new sights: the man behind the desk who doesn’t even look up as you both enter, the elevator that was last inspected two years ago, the proximity to the neighboring apartments.

After you unlock the door but before he crosses the threshold, he reaches up and runs his hand along the top of the doorframe—and easily pulls away your spare key. For a moment he holds it between you both, staring. He seems nearly as surprised as you are by his own actions. Reaching out, he sets it down on the end table just beyond the entry and says: “You couldn’t find a better hiding place for that?” 

“Goddamnit, Ghost,” you whine, slipping off your shoes. “You’re not here to assess my, my security measures. You’re here to fuck me. Will you get in?”

He comes in and makes a circle of the living space, his steps silent in a way you’ve never been able to replicate, not even here in your own living space. You cross your arms, wondering what he’s thinking. Does he think you a slob? A terrible interior designer? You told yourself that you didn’t care. The space was yours, and yours alone, and you liked it well enough. He could survive being in it for one night.

“What’s the verdict?” you ask after the silence stretches too thin. 

“It’s nice,” he says. Then he amends, or perhaps adds: “It’s you.” 

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment. Do you…want a drink?”’ 

“No,” he says, taking off his jacket and resting it on the arm of the couch. “Want you to c’mere.” 

Your feet obey before your mind even thinks to question it, padding across the living room in your socks until you stand in front of where he has seated himself on your frayed, careworn loveseat. He looks up at you, eyes dark and all-seeing. His hands find your hips, testing the width of them, and he makes you feel like something small, something precious, something to be cradled in the palm of his hand like a gem or jewel.

“Sit down,” he says. So you sit beside him, close enough to breathe in his clean scent. 

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “As soon as you say you’ll let me.” 

“I’ll let you.” 

His lips are soft as they look, mouth warm and insistent as he coaxes you to part your lips and taste him—as if you need the incentive. He tastes like Price’s whiskey that he had sipped at the bar, like he would settle warm in your belly and everywhere else. His hand relaxes his hold on your chin, choosing instead to cup your jaw, suffusing warmth throughout your cheek. 

It turns into the longest makeout session you’ve had since you were a teenager. You kiss until your jaw aches, until your lips are raw, until you’re throbbing between your legs. Each time you try to move things along, Ghost gently deflects your advances, seeming content to kiss you for ages. If this is how he fucks, it will be an all night affair. 

“Ghost please,” you mutter against his mouth when you feel liable to burst, when he won’t even let you slip a hand beneath his t-shirt. 

“Here,” he mutters, hauling you onto his lap. That’s headed in the right direction. Your thighs spread obscenely wide to accommodate him, lowering yourself until you feel that hard line beneath his jeans. Instinct has you lining yourself up until you can rub off against him, a choked sound rising up in the back of your throat at the blissful friction. 

He sighs into your mouth, a trembling little exhale of air, his hands finding your hips and pinning you in place. Pulling back, he mutters: “None of that.” 

“Why not?” you pant. “Feels good.” 

“I’m trying not to embarrass myself. Work with me.”

The two of you move to the bedroom. You stand on legs that are already shaking, stripping clothes off along as you go: socks here, leggings there. The typical anxious thoughts have just started spiraling in your head—what underwear are you wearing? Have you shaved recently enough? Is the light flattering? When did you last change the sheets?—when Ghost catches you, looping his forearm around your waist and pulling you back against his firm chest. 

“I wanted to undress you,” he says against the nape of your neck. 

“I can put the clothes back on if you like.” 

“Think I’ll just do the rest myself, if it’s all the same to you.” 

His hands are remarkably gentle for his line of work as he helps you out of your shirt, your arms lifting obligingly to help him. The light from the lamp in the corner is actually quite flattering, casting shadows across you both in a way that is artful. His fingertips, calloused but careful, trace up the lengths of your arms and around to your back. 

He fumbles a little with the clasp of your bra. 

“I hate those things,” you breathe once he finally gets it figured out, coaxing the straps off your shoulders. 

“Me too,” he says in that dry, bland way that you’ve come to associate with his humor.

All that’s left are your panties. He presses you back onto the bedspread and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, peeling them off your thighs. Your legs try to close on instinct, but he is quick to wedge himself between them, thumbs finding the creases where your thighs meet your pelvis and stroking the sensitive skin until you don’t know whether to laugh from being tickled or cry from being teased. 

“Fuckin’ pretty, aren’t you?” he murmurs, eyes on your pussy. Maybe he’s talking to it and not to you. “Want to get my mouth on you. Can I?” 

God, how long has it been since you’ve gotten head? You nod, near frantic. Even if he’s no good, some effort will be better than nothing. Besides, a part of you has high hopes for Ghost as a lover; so far he has been thorough and careful, both points in his favor. He leans up and kisses you again, your nipples brushing against his t-shirt, reminding you that you are naked while he is still entirely dressed. He seems content, and as desperate as you are to see him naked, you’re even more desperate not to break this blissful little soap bubble you both have somehow managed to find yourselves in. 

Nudging your head up and to the side with the tip of his nose, he trails his mouth down your neck, tasting your skin and searching for your most sensitive spots. When he finds them, he drags his teeth against them softly until your heels are digging into the bed beneath you, hips up and searching for any kind of friction, even if you have to rub yourself against his jeans to find it. 

Ghost continues down over the plains of your chest, teasing first one nipple and then the other with his mouth and his hands, testing the heft of your breasts in his huge palms. He explores your body with an admirable single-mindedness, not the perfunctory, half-hearted way some of your past lovers had. His eyes are never far from your own, categorizing your reactions; for what purpose, you aren’t sure. 

After kissing a line right over your navel, he grips your thighs in his hands and spreads you wide. That close to your cunt, he must be able to smell how desperate you are, must be able to see the way it drips from you. He ghosts a thumb along your slit, turns it towards himself until your slick catches on the light. That thumb disappears into his mouth, and it takes all your breath and all your thoughts with it. His hum of approval vibrates against your calves which are pressed to either side of his chest. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

You nod, unable to trust your voice. 

He leans down and kisses your folds, chaste and sweet as he might have kissed your mouth. He uses the fingers of one hand to spread you open, and there is a rush of warmth as he lets the saliva pool on his tongue and then flood against your sex, leaning down to chase it with his mouth. 

He is all merciful tongue and lips, no hint of teeth as he licks and sucks at that hidden knot of flesh at the top of your sex. He barely pays your entrance any attention—which is fine by you, honestly, his tongue is direly needed elsewhere—but shifts an arm free to sling it over your pelvis, palm resting over your mons, thumb pulling back that hood that seeks to keep your most sensitive parts hidden from him. 

Your hands grip fistfuls of your bedspread, unsure if he’s willing to let you touch his hair. The noises—gasps and whines and choked groans—coming out of your mouth would have your soul leaving your body if only you could hear them over the sound of blood rushing through your ears. 

He’s strong, fighting against your natural urges to clamp your thighs shut around his head. Instead he presses you open wider, leaving no where for you to run to or hide as the pleasure in your pelvis blossoms, swells into some sweet fruit that bursts all over his tongue, your back arching into a neat bow. 

You find out then that Ghost eats pussy the same way he kisses. He seems content to lap you clean and continue sucking at your swollen flesh, and even though you don’t think you could cum again, it still feels good. You melt into the mattress, boneless. Against your better judgement, your hand finds his hair, tucking back the longest strands that just begin to tickle the tops of his ears.  

His mouth stutters against you at the touch, losing its easy rhythm. He pulls back until he is out of your reach. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, throat raw. Your hand falls to rest on your soft belly, feeling exhausted.

“You can touch. Just don’t pull. I don’t—“ he stops, like he is searching for the right words. “—I don’t want it to hurt.” 

“Not at all?” 

“No.” 

“Me neither. Would you kiss me again?” 

His only answer is to shift upwards so that he can meet your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue. His cock, still confined in his jeans, brushes against your thighs. One of your hands wanders down his firm chest, down his belly, til you can map the shape of his erection with your fingers. His biceps tense around you where he braces himself on the bed to keep from putting his weight on you, head dropping til his forehead rests against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. 

“You should get undressed,” you remind him. 

He lets out a breath through his nose that sounds suspiciously like a sigh, leaning back onto his haunches to tug his shirt off over his head. You stare, awed. He’s so thick, all over: muscles hidden beneath a nice layer of soft padding, chest hair broken up by the odd scar here or there. You reach out toward his belt but he stops you. 

“I can do it,” he says. He stands and strips himself naked in one fell swoop, like ripping off a bandaid. He’s thick here too, just as you had suspected: thighs and cock included. Already you can feel the phantom stretch of him between your legs and in your jaw. It burns away the last bits of sleepiness your orgasm had given you. 

Throughout your perusal, he stands still, at attention, mouth turned downward in its most comfortable frown, meeting your eyes with an almost obstinate persistence. You kneel up and crawl to the edge of the bed, letting your legs dangle off of it. 

“Can I touch you?” 

“Alright,” he says. 

You start at his shoulders, tracing over the broad width of them. Everything about him displays his strength. Even his scars, which some might consider signs of failure, only showed his persistence for survival. You ran your hands across his pecs, pausing to toy with one pale, pink nipple, so soft beneath your fingers. With each breath he takes, his abs are thrown into sharp relief. 

“God, Ghost,” you mutter, tracing a line down to his cock. 

“I know,” he says dully, though what he knows, you’re unsure of. “Condom’s in my pants.”

“We don’t need one.”

“I don’t want any surprises.”

“You won’t get any. Here.” You take his hand and guide it to your upper arm where your implant sits just beneath the surface of your skin. He flinches, unsure what he is touching. “It’s my contraception.”

“That’s horrifying,” he mutters. 

“Do what I do—don’t think of it.” 

“Right.”

You shift backwards up into the bed, thighs falling open invitingly. Instead of filling the space between them, he lays next to you, rolling you til you both face each other. 

He runs his calloused palm up the length of your leg and grips your thigh, tugging it up and over his hip until you are spread open for him. There’s a question in his eyes, a slowness to his movement that gives you ample time to deny him this if you don’t want it—but you do. God you do. You ache for it—for him. 

He reaches down and slips two fingers into you, easy as anything in your wet, relaxed state. The fullness is divine, even more so when he decides you’re ready for that third finger, the one that stretches your entrance and makes you hiss a breath through your teeth. 

Ghost doesn’t even fuck you with them, just leaves you stuffed full of his fingers while he kisses you more. He waits until you’re the one shifting and thrusting against his touch before pulling out and wiping your wetness across your tender folds. 

He grips his cock, guides it to your entrance. Hesitates. 

“Please,” you mutter, face flushed with heat, hoping he doesn’t want you to beg. You’ll debase yourself, but it will be painful. 

Whether or not it was your word he was waiting for, he slips inside you, a near-unbearable fullness and pressure that has you burying your face in his chest. His own breaths are stuttered, shallow as he sinks as deep into you as your body will allow and no deeper. Once he’s inside you, he seems to relax, like some great race has been run, some threshold has been crossed and now he can rest. 

“Let me know when I can move,” he says, running his hand up and down the length of your back, down over the curve of your ass. 

“Not yet,” you beg. “Feels like you’re in my fucking throat. Jesus, Ghost.” 

His cock twitches. You both suck in a breath. 

“Don’t say that shit,” he mutters, breathless, fingers digging grooves into the soft flesh of your hips. “Lean back. I want to look at you.”

You uncurl yourself away from his chest, tilting your chin up towards him. The last twinges of pain in your cunt have receded until all that lasts is that ceaseless fullness. He moves at last, laying down his arm so you can rest your head on his bicep. Only then are you aware of how painfully intimate this position is. There is nowhere to turn away to, nowhere to hide. You’ve had sex with partners less intimate than this. 

“You can move,” you assure him, hoping for a distraction. 

He takes a breath so deep his chest brushes your own. The pace he sets is downright agonizingly slow, less thrusting and more of a solid grind against you that has you a shivering mess in his arms. There’s little chance you could cum at this pace, but it feels good, and all of it is strangely secondary to him. 

There’s a look in his eyes. You don’t understand it. Is it tenderness? Genuine affection? Gratitude? You’ve never had sex with this much eye contact before, never felt like breaking that gaze could take you out of the hazy headspace you’re in. Ghost finds your hand and grips it—doesn’t lace your fingers together but instead holds them like a tiny bundle of sticks in his giant hand.

He rests his forehead against your own. His eyes fall shut for just a moment, and it gives you the freedom to examine his features freely: the low brow, the curve of his nose, the pink scars tinged pale purple in the low light. You feel like you’re seeing him for the first time. You feel like you’re the first person to ever see him. 

That strange thought starts a domino effect in your mind, sets off a chain reaction, slides a dozen puzzle pieces into a Ghost shaped puzzle and all at once it hits you. 

“Ghost—stop.” 

He stills, eyes opening. Reverses, withdrawing from inside you. “What hurts?”

“Nothing,” you assure him. “But—I’m sorry. You’ve done this before, right?” 

He doesn’t respond. He’s meeting your eyes, but he has that obstinate, pained look again, like he’d rather be looking straight at the sun. 

Your voice pitches upward with a hint of panic. “Ghost??”

“Fucking hell,” he groans, rolling onto his back, cock slipping free and leaving you feeling bereft. The mattress dips, making you sway toward him. You shift away.  “What gave me away?”

“Oh my god. You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re joking.” 

“Bloody wish,” he mutters, arm thrown over his eyes. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The fuck would I tell you for?” He sounds genuinely baffled. 

“So I could—I don’t know! So I could have known!” 

“Didn’t want you to fucking know,” he says, letting his arm down so that he can glare at you fiercely. At the sight of you huddled at the other side of the bed, naked, arms wrapped around yourself, the fury seems to melt out of him. His shoulders sag. He palms at his eyes briefly, like a headache is brewing.

“Fucked it,” he mutters to himself, going for his jeans and sitting on the edge of the bed to put them on. “Fucked it all.” 

“You didn’t,” you offer hastily, though it does feel a little fucked. Suddenly you realize that your chance to fuck Ghost is slipping through your fingers like so much sand. What had started as a dream come true was turning into a nightmare, and you couldn’t bear the thought of letting him leave. Not like this. 

At your words, he tosses you a look, and how a human can fit so much skepticism in a single expression is beyond your belief.

“Really. I just wish I’d known so I could have been better for you.” You don’t realize the truth of the statement until you say it. The last thing you wanted was for him to look back on this moment with disappointment. 

He shakes his head and mutters: “You’re mad.” 

“We could still—you know.” 

He stops, jeans halfway pulled up his thick thighs. “What, fuck?”

You find a loose thread on your bedspread and twist it around your finger, shrugging. Aiming for cool and missing by a mile. 

“You want to.” 

“Well, yeah.” You abandon the thread, feeling too exposed. Tucking your legs up toward your chest, you wrap your arms around yourself. “Like you said in the car. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“About fucking me.”

“Are these questions?” you ask, face warm. “Yes, I think about it. Thought about it. I have thoughts.” 

His lips twitch, a ghost of a smile, gone before you can imagine what a full-fledged grin would even begin to look like. “You’re serious.”

“Really serious,” you offer, sensing that he might be coming back around to the idea himself. Though you’re no vixen, you let your body unfold just to watch the way his eyes drop to look you over. You never knew eyes could be hungry. “Pants off? Please?”

He’s still and quiet for several long moments, but at length he shoves them back down his thighs, naked once more. He’s only half hard, but no less intimidating in this state. You eagerly shift to the edge of the bed and off, back down onto your knees in front of him, palms against his thighs. 

“Is this okay?” you ask, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, aware that this is one of your most flattering angles. 

“Go on,” he says. He sounds doubtful. You are too, unsure if you can find the same rhythm you both had going before. Unsure if you want to, now that you know him better. 

You take one of his hands and coax it into cupping your cheek, then slide it back and up into your hair. “Don’t pull. No pain, right?” 

Something hard in his expression softens marginally. His fingertips scratch gently at your scalp, a silent praise as he agrees: “No pain.”

Leaning forward, you nuzzle at his cock. It is velvety soft against your cheek. His scent here is more concentrated, masculine and warm. Above you, he sucks in a breath through his teeth. 

How much you enjoy giving head usually directly depends on your partner, and Ghost is brilliant to suck off. Some might find him stoic or unaffected, but his expressions are just understated. When you place an open mouthed kiss against his shaft, his fingers twitch in your hair. When you take the tip past your lips to rest heavily against your tongue, he lets out a shaky exhale. By the time he’s nudging the back of your throat while you work the excess inches of his cock in your fist, he is grunting in between in sharp breaths. You find yourself becoming hyper attuned to his reactions until each minuscule motion feels exaggerated to your brain. A twitch becomes a caress. A sigh a moan.  

“I’ll cum in your mouth if you don’t stop,” he grits out. 

You pull off, jaw aching, lips slick. “I’d rather you came inside me.” 

He pulls you to your feet and kisses you. All the kisses tonight, and this one has been the most honest, the most needful, the most raw. Had he never even kissed anyone before tonight? you wonder. It’s hard to believe that the answer might be yes. The way he kisses melts your brain, fizzles your thoughts. 

“Ghost,” you breathe when he gives you a moment to come up for air, his mouth dipping low to your collarbone where he sucks softly. 

“You know my name,” he says, mouth against your skin. “Use it.”

Simon. You have to say it in your mind first to get used to it. Simon. Simon. Then he finds one of those sensitive spots in the crook of your neck and you are whispering it, voice trembling more than you’d like: “Simon.” 

“I like the way you say it,” he admits. “You’ve got a pretty mouth.”

“So do you.” 

He snorts softly, shaking his head, like you have said something very silly. 

“Up.” He grips your waist and helps you up onto the bed. You scoot back, making room for him between your thighs, and he fills the space so fucking snugly. His cock nudges at your sex and reminds you of how you ache all anew. 

This time when he slips inside you, it punches a sound out of you that is remarkably close to a whine, your toes curling. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” you gasp, hands scrabbling for purchase against his broad shoulders, careful not to scratch him. 

His head drops, forehead resting against your own, eyes shut. “Fuck’s right. Not a chance I’ll last after being in your mouth.”

“Wait for me,” you choke out, working one hand between you both until your fingers can find your clit. The angle isn’t the best, not with him so close, but it’s made up for by how blissfully full you are, by how Simon’s arms are trembling where he holds himself up above you. Briefly you let your fingers take a side trip, teasing his cock where he stretches you open, and Simon groans. Fuck, it goes right to your head. It makes you feel like you could walk on water. 

You find his mouth and kiss him, kiss him til your head is light with lack of air, kiss him til your thighs are shaking with how close you are from your own expert touch. 

“Fuck me, now, fuck me please,” you beg into his mouth.

He draws back until just the thick head sits inside you, giving your fingers room to work for a moment before he thrusts back in slow and smooth, pinning your fingers against your clit and that simple pressure—it’s enough. Your body bows against him, choked sounds lost against his mouth as he swallows them whole, fucking you so softly through the peak of your pleasure. 

Simon stiffens not a handful of moments later, cock twitching inside you. The burst of warmth is pleasant, making you shiver. He drops down til his chest presses against your own, careful not to crush you with his weight. 

“Don’t pull out yet.” 

His softening cock twitches inside you. All he says is: “Alright.” 

You hum, warm and sated. Sleepy. “You sleeping over?”

“Didn’t plan on it,” he murmurs, lips against your shoulder. 

“But the walk of shame is a valuable part of the experience.”

“‘M not ashamed of fucking you,” he says. 

You’re strangely touched. “Me neither.”

“Did you fake it?” he wonders.

“I’m no good at faking,” you admit. He leans up so his eyes can scan your face, looking for any hint of deception. Whatever he finds must satisfy his curiosity because he lowers his head back to rest against your shoulder. 

He rolls you both onto your sides, and his soft cock slips free with a rush of seed. You make an unhappy sound in the back of your throat. Afterward is always your least favorite part, when you feel so empty.

Simon hushes you as he slips from the bed. “Bathroom,” he tells you. 

“Through there.”

“Not for me, for you.”

“Why?” you whine, tired and petulant. 

“Because pissing afterward is a valuable part of the experience for you. Can you walk, or did I break you?” 

When you don’t answer, he grips one of your ankles and pulls you toward the end of the bed. You shriek, rolling onto your belly, but it’s no use. Looping his arm around your waist, he tosses you over his shoulder and carries you to the bathroom like you weigh nothing more than a sack of potatoes, which is patently untrue. 

“Are you going to watch me go, too?” you ask. 

“Kinky,” he says, already disappearing into the other room. 

By the time you clean yourself up and take care of any “valuable post-sex experiences”, Simon has dressed himself. His clothes are gone from the floor in your bedroom. You can’t help but feel disappointed; a part of you really had been hoping he’d stay.  Slipping on your panties and a clean shirt, you chase after him hoping he hasn’t left only to find him toying with your spare key at your door. 

The way he reaches for your hand and draws you to him soothes some of the ache of seeing out. He thumbs your pulse and says: “I have to be ready to leave for work at a moment’s notice or I’d stay.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“You’re lying,” he says, pressing his thumb more firmly against your wrist. “Don’t lie to me, or I’ll know. Do you want tonight to happen again?” 

“Are you seriously copping a feel of my pulse to see if I’m being truthful?”

“Evading the question,” he says, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Thanks anyway, for tonight. I’ll see myself out.”

“Yes! Alright, yes. Of course I do.” 

His mouth quirks upwards, his grin a little crooked thanks to the scar, but no less precious. His thumb strokes softly. “I don’t need your pulse to tell when you’re lying. I just like to feel it racing when you look at me.”

You groan, burying your face in his chest. How embarrassing is that? 

“Next time, I’ll stay,” he promises. “Alright? Repeat it back to me.” 

“Next time you’ll stay.” 

“Next time,” he murmurs softly, turning away. He takes the stairs.  

[latenightdaydreams]

König x Secretary!Reader (fem)

MDNI 🔞

Quick note: 💕 THANK YOU 💕 to everyone for the love and support on my stories! I’m happy people are enjoying them💗

For more: Master list

Part 2 here

>CW: fem/afab reader, oral, anilingus, p in v

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Imagine coming in to work for König as his secretary after he reluctantly agrees to let the captain hire help for him. Walking into his office the first day to see the massive man with piercing pale blue eyes. A sniper hood with bleached tear looking stains covering his face. He just looks at you. Not being able to see his facial expression because of the mask so you just stand there frozen. So frozen with fear looking into his eyes that you failed to notice the massive hard on he has growing in his pants.

Your first few weeks there he didn’t talk much to you. Handing you files and asking for little earns to be ran for him, like coffee or lunch pick up. Slowly he started to talk more, “Danke, bitte, nien, ja.” His eyes always boring into yours as if he was looking into your soul. It was unsettling, but the pay was great and he has never actually been rude to you so you put up with it.

You had gotten into the routine and started to enjoy the job. König was an easy man to work for as long as you did things as expected and he never over worked you. As a plus he turned out to be sweeter than expected. Coming into work on your birthday to see a simple cupcake with frosting in your favorite color on your desk and a card stuffed with cash. König never actually says “Happy Birthday”, but this is just how he expresses he cares.

“Thank you, König.”

He gives a simple nod and goes back to typing up a report.

Six months in he asks you to stay after, he has to talk to you. You begin to worry, anxiety spikes as you realize you might be getting fired. Trying to think about the mistakes you might have made, you sit a chair across from his desk. His eyes look away from the computer to meet yours.

Before you know it, you’re naked, bent over his desk. His mask pulled back over his head as his face is smothered between your ass cheeks as his tongue laps at your tight asshole. One of his hands has two of his thick fingers pumping in and out of your wet pussy, the feeling of your tight gummy walls wrapping around his fingers making him want in now. His other hand stroking his cock, using his own precum as lube.

“Was willst du?” His eyes travel to his fingers in your pussy before pulling them out and shoving his tongue in your slightly stretched hole.

“I want your cock,” your voice trembles with pleasure.

König lets a pleasured sigh hearing your words before pulling away from your sweet pussy. Finally, he lines up his fat cock with your entrance.

An animalistic groan escapes his lips as he pushes the tip in. König places his hands on your ass cheeks to spread them apart; his eyes watching as your pussy struggles to stretch, swallowing his cock inch my inch. Eyes fluttering to the back of his head. He feels like he just found heaven in your tight grip.

He was already falling in love; this moment just sealed the deal. A week later you came into work to find a key on your desk attached to a “K” keychain.

Part2

[leenathegreengirl]

He knows exactly what he’s doing 😂

crosshair on his way to give hunter another migraine

[leenathegreengirl]

Our favorite Sniper having a moment of peace and reflection 💚💕

@legacygirlingreen @thora-sniper @sukithebean @thecoffeelorian @neyswxrld @somewhere-on-kamino @clonethirstingisreal @royallykt @morerandombullshit @burningfieldof-clover @tbnrpotato @keantha @anxiouspineapple99

[lovexjoe]

How would Armando be if he thought the reader was sweet cute never hurt anyone or a fly but when they are partnered up to go on a mission she the opposite… please do this

Damsel In Distress

A.N: This one is gonna be fun! Y/N will be used as bait for a mission, but Armando doesn't realize she can hold her own. The karambit scene from Bad Boys For Life, Y/N takes the place of Armando with some dialogue changed. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHQFzABygCI

Warnings: Violence, some fluffy fluff

Y/N POV

Armando and I have been arguing all morning and afternoon. I don't get what his problem is, he's treating me like a child.

"¿Estás loca? ¡No lo vas a hacer!" (Are you crazy? You're not doing it!)

"Im doing it and that's final!" You stormed out the house.

You guys haven't made things official yet and it's fights like this that reminds you this relationship might be a ticking timebomb. Since I've been partnered with him, he doesn't let me get in on ANY of the fun. I am talking I look like a damsel in distress even AMMO squad laughs about it.

"I think he has a crush on you. It's kinda cute" Kelly teases you as you finish up some of the files that needed to get done for the team. No one really knew what was happening behind the scenes.

"Thinks? Oh he definitely does" Rita says.

"I am sorry in advance that my son is a pain in the ass" Mike shakes his head.

"Advance? You a little late on the apology Mike. This boy been a pain in the ass since we partnered them up!" Marcus adds in.

Everyone chimes their opinion in till the room went silent due to Armando walking in.

"I don't think Y/N should be used as bait tonight, it's not safe" He leans against the wall with everyone trying to suppress their laughter.

Armando really does not know who you are. Yes, your exterior may look sweet and innocent, but out of the whole AMMO squad: you're the deadliest. Which is why you stick to the tech stuff until they really needed you. Mike and Marcus pulled him aside to have a talk: good luck cause he never listens.

Armando POV

This girl drives me insane. Someone as innocent and sweet as her just READY to jump in the fire. Mike and Marcus try to be the voice of reason, but I really wasn't trying to listen. If anything or anyone touches a hair on her head, I'm putting a bullet through them and not thinking twice.

"Mando listen, I understand and I am genuinely surprised that you care, but I promise just stay on standby and watch from the overhead." Armando shoots Mike a glare knowing he wasn't going to win this one regardless so he decided he'll just be on sniper watch.

As it started to get dark outside, we loaded up everything we needed. Y/N was geared up and she looked gorgeous. This women drives me completely insane, but I'd do anything for her. We parked in our hideout spot and started exiting out the van. I grabbed Y/N's hand.

"Listen, just signal me if you need help. " I pulled her close and placed a kiss on her forehead, then proceeded to set up my sniper in the designated area.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚❋ ❋ ❋˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚❋ ❋ ❋˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Y/N walks to the pinpoint location, meeting up with the drug dealers. She brought her favorite little karambit with her. She warned Marcus and Mike that it might get bloody. These idiots knowing she's a female they're going to try to ambush her. Mike said as long as the leader isn't killed, everything else goes under the radar.

"Karina!" The leader calls out cheerfully. You drop the bag filled with fake money on the floor ignoring his gesture for a hug. Armando lurking from his position, taking quick glimpses of how gorgeous you looked right now.

"We're so sorry to have to do this to you Karina. But your services are no longer needed" 6 men started to slowly close in on you. Armando positions his finger on the trigger, ready to take the leader out and fuck this whole case up. Your safety means more than any case and he'd gladly go back to prison for you. Right as he's about to pull the trigger, Mike says over the intercom to just sit back and enjoyed the show. Armando was confused as you snatched the gun from the leaders hand, placing a bullet in each of his knees and uppercutting him: knocking him out cold. Nap time! You took out your karambit and everything went black. You didn't know what happened in between, but when you came back to your senses your karambit was shoved into the mouth of one of this drug dealer's minions. With 6 bloody bodies surrounding you. You turned to Armando and said

"Oops" You wink.

"That's what im talking about!" Mike and Marcus cheered. Rita and the rest of the AMMO squad came out to wrap everything up. You headed back to the van. Armando was shocked for sure. Turned on? Majorly. Sweet and innocent was DEFINITELY not the words used to describe you anymore. You heard the door of the van open, seeing its your favorite partner in the world.

"You okay mami? I don't want any problems." He slowly creeps in with his hands up, teasing you.

"Yes I'm fine" You chuckled as he pulls you close.

"Yes, you most definitely are" He leans down placing a kiss on your lips.